Remixed Morcheeba

even though we know its forever changing
even though we know we lie and wait
even though we know the hidden danger
i hope its not too late

88 = 16

On June 14, my grandpa turned 88. When I asked how it felt, he said: Just like yesterday. Besides, 8+8=16 and that's how I always feel. Grandpa really is a miracle. He and my grandma (87) went to Tunisia on Friday and are going to the Canary Islands later on this summer. They have already been to France and Egypt this year and I am sure they are already scheming where to spend the winter holidays. Living by the moto - When you're our age, everything and anything is allowed - they really are an unstoppable couple. Grandpa also uses a GPS device, a smart-phone, a Facebook account, a synthesizer which he connects to a computer program through which he learns how to play, and many other gadgets too sophisticated for me to comprehend. As the years go by, he keeps getting smarter and I can see his French and English improve by the day. Every time I see him, he tells me about something he has learned browsing the internet and, more often than not, it is stuff that I have never even heard of.

Grandma is special in her own ways. Very stubborn, very opinionated, very strict. Although today she uses her age as an excuse, I really think she always thought she was allowed to do anything. Raised in a bourgeois family, she would steal skis and other expensive goods from her own household to donate for the Partisans, then a guerrilla force fighting for liberation from the Nazi's. Grandma sometimes brags in a nonchalant tone about her contributions to WWII resistance as a medical worker. She traveled on foot and on horse with her own group of all-male Partisans from Belgrade to Zagreb through wilderness and forests. She entered Zagreb on a horse, on the very day that it was liberated, surrounded by the boys that she had been taking care of. Although she supported the communists when it was very dangerous to do so, Grandma left the Communist Party in disappointment when not supporting them was dangerous. Ever since, she has been very used to disagreeing with the world and I think she overcomes it all by being convinced that she is always right.

One hot summer in the mid 50's, Grandpa was riding around with his motorcycle buddies when he noticed Grandma. She was the only girl in Belgrade to ride a motorcycle at the time and techie Grandpa couldn't help but notice that it was a nice one too. Decades after they had fallen for each other so unconventionally, they have decelerated to a more predictable life. Regardless of their plentiful travel, they do have to comply with some rules - lunch is at 12:30, nap time is from 2:00-4:00, dinner is at 6:00, bedtime at 9, etc. For as long as I have been around and can remember, they have been splitting a 0.75 liter bottle of beer for lunch. Having already had bad experience in Tunisia, where beer is very difficult to find and expensive, Grandma decided she would pack 10 0.75 cans of beer for the 10 days of their vacation, for them to split a can each lunch. Grandpa disproved, but she had decided and that was it. So, she packed 5 cans in her own suitcase and the other 5 into Grandpa's case, secretly. I can just imagine the Partisan inside her chuckle when she did this - He may be against it now, but when I surprise him with a can... heh heh.

Lo and behold, their suitcases arrived to Tunisia safely, yet completely wet. The cans exploded from the juggling and air pressure. In a very inconvenient way, Grandma was busted. Somehow, they did not have any problems going through the customs. Somehow, they survived the embarrassment of walking into their 4 star hotel smelling like two alcoholics. But when they arrived to the room, Grandpa found that even his fancy camera had gotten wet. Let's just say that I received an ample of angry text messages from Grandpa. They are not back yet but I hope that they got over it quickly and started enjoying their trip. In the meantime, I have been seriously considering being a third wheeler on the trip to the Canary Islands, if they'll have me. I am sure it would be a one of a kind adventure. Who knows what our guerrilla traveler has prepared for that episode. Stay tuned...

North Korea Spreading Hope?

Last night, I went to a bar in Belgrade with my friends to watch Brazil, the number one soccer team in the world, play against North Korea, one of the longest shots in this year's World Cup. None of us expected much of the game and, if anything, we thought it would be a game full of Brazil's easy scores, one similar to when Argentina scored 6-0 against Serbia in 2006. Little did we know that North Korea's goal against two Brazilian goals would feel like victory for all of us.

As the North Korean anthem played and one of their players was shown crying his eyes out, an incredible sense of support and fellowship toward this team spread across the room. I kept thinking what it was like for the players to fly over to South Africa only to be uncertain whether their efforts would be broadcast home. I think that most of us remembered the 1994 World Cup in the US, when the UN Security Council imposed sports sanctions on Yugoslavia for political reasons and our teams had been prevented from playing in any international games or tournaments from 1992 to 1995. It would have meant the world to the broken moral of our country at the time to have played the World Cup.

Spontaneously, the entire cafe began cheering for the boys in red, whose no-name jerseys looked as if from a different era in comparison to the flashy Nike yellow-green outfits. Here and there, I would even imagine that the Chinese "fans volunteer army" was honestly cheering for North Korea. And perhaps it was. Perhaps it was too swept away with hope and sympathy like I was.

In Serbia we have a saying that goes like this - "There are few things money can't buy... Everything else is available at the Chinese market." Did North Korea actually manage to purchase support, not only from the Chinese but from people in Serbia and all around the world? Rumor has it that the player was instructed to cry during the anthem. Maybe we, the "spontaneous" supporters, were all just a part of President Kim Jong-il's game... But maybe, and hopefully, we simply remembered that all humans deserve a chance.

Hot Hot Chip

I've been spending the hot summer days on Belgrade's steamy asphalt listening to a lot of Hot Chip. Enjoy!

Hot Chip - Made in the Dark
Hot Chip Feat. Bonnie “Prince” Billy - I Feel Bonnie
Hot Chip - Touch Too Much (Fake Blood Rmx)

I stick my emblem at you!!

Designed back when Kikinda (currently in northern Serbia) was situated on the border with the Ottoman Empire, Kikinda's city emblem may be the scariest one out there. It must have originated as a proud symbol of resistance to the Ottoman oppression that had conquered Serbs for 600 years... But come on! Regardless of the charming heart below, a spear going through someone's head is definitely not a friendly way to welcome visitors to your city. It's 2010 and the media representation of Serbs does not ring friendly bells as is. The last thing we need is I "heart" Aggression emblems.

Mixers, Blenders, Shakers. Festivals For All.

I have been recovering from the 5-day festival "Mikser" for the past 3 days and things not look promising. I feel tired, unproductive and, by the looks of it, I am going to need a couple of more days to get back to myself. This time, I think it was well worth it though.

I knew that the festival was going to be a peculiar one, judging by its location. As I approached the gray scary-looking humongous wheat mills in an abandoned industrial zone of Belgrade, I could not imagine what was coming. Labeled as a Design Festival, Mikser (meaning mixer, like the one used for cooking) is much more than that. It seemed to me that it threw various aspects of the youth's subculture and social life in a bowl and literally mixed it into something very delicious, of universal taste. The way the industrial site was utilized for all of this was inspirational. Each day's repertoire offered a perfect blend of education, creativity and partying. Every day, I would start of by exploring the expo and talent zones, the former one mixing design talent with industry and the latter one, set in the midst of the "scary" silos towers, reserved for independent artists and designers of all sorts. Then, I would listen to a lecture or visit the open air "kino" to see a documentary. Hopping from one "zone" to another, I would stop by the graffiti artists' stand, the tattoo stand, artisan workshops and - possibly the highlight of the festival - a hanging tunnel made up of packing tape that made you feel like you were in outer space when inside. The designers were all there and happy to talk about their art which was awesome, particularly for us non-artists. Filled with positive energy and ideas, I would watch the pink sun set behind the Danube and wait for the colorful selection of music performances to begin. Day after day, I got carried away and began taking this type of life for granted, as if it would not end.


Oof, fortunately, festival season is open in Serbia! Some of the festivals coming up or happening as we speak are Cinema City and Exit in Novi Sad, and Refract Festival, Belgrade Design Week, Japanism Festival, Nitrate Film Festival, Belgrade Summer Festival (BELEF), International Folk Festival, Beer Fest, the Boat Carnival, and many more in Belgrade.

I think I'll manage...